Submitter: Date: 2009/9/14 Views: 424

The first one to step out of the train when it stopped in Rush Valley was Winry, of course. Her eyes shone brilliantly as she saw the number of automail stores that surrounded her and she couldn’t help but scream her excitement.

“We’re finally here!” she cried. “I don’t know where to go first. There are so many places I want to see!”

Her other three companions, on the other hand, didn’t share her enthusiasm. Ed was walking with the air of someone who just wanted this visit to be over and done with. Al, though not as moody as his brother, still remained close behind, feeling quite self-conscious because of all the attention he got by the bystanders. It was only natural. The people of Rush valley who happened to look at Al’s armoured body thought that the boy was equipped from head to toe with automail – a remarkable thing even in these parts. Beregond walked next to Al, quite taken aback to see so many people circulating in fake limbs and even bragging about them to their friends. That made him realise that there were still a lot of things he had yet to see in this world.

Another of Winry’s screams made him and the Elrics look in her direction.

“I can’t believe it! I read about that model but to see it here is almost too much!” she said, her eyes locked on an automail that she spotted on a window nearby.

“Great,” Ed said with a huff, “But do we have to look at every piece of automail escorted by our luggage?”

Winry was ready to object, but in the end she relented. She realised that Ed had a point; all three had to follow her while holding onto their suitcases – hers included.

“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I guess we should check into a hotel.” She looked at Beregond, an expression of concern crossing her features. “Maybe you can have some rest as well?”

Beregond shook his head, smiling. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I managed to sleep a bit last night.”

Ed, Al and Winry’s eyes widened in surprise at hearing Beregond’s words. “You did?!” they all exclaimed at once.

The Gondorian couldn’t help it. He laughed. “What can I say? If Ed can finally down his milk, I can sleep in moving trains,” he declared with an almost comical shrug of his shoulders. He wasn’t willing to admit that he was simply too tired to mind sleeping in a moving train, even though he was sure that the thought crossed the boys and Winry’s minds.

“Which reminds me,” Al said thoughtfully. “How did you—?”

“Oh! There’s a hotel!” Ed said all of a sudden and rushed at a green building on their left. “Come on, hurry up! Maybe we can have some breakfast while we’re at it!”

Winry raised an eyebrow as she eyed him. “With milk, just like before we left?”

“Of course!” Ed answered, even though his words were accompanied with a mischievous grin directed at Al and Winry and a wink towards Beregond.

---

It turned out that there was breakfast available at the hotel after all. Ed immediately ordered some for himself, Winry and Beregond and then all four settled in one of the table nearby. Twenty minutes later he was sitting back on his chair, rubbing his stomach in a contented manner. Moreover, there was a teasing grin gracing his features, because he had drunk milk again, this time in front of Al and Winry. Not just a couple of sips, but the whole glass. Winry and Al looked as though their jaws would drop on the spot, whereas Beregond just sipped on his coffee, not in the least impressed at Ed’s achievement.

He simply made sure that his knowing smile was meticulously concealed by his cup.

Finally, once breakfast was over, Winry wanted nothing more than to walk around Rush Valley and look one more time at the stores. Feeling that it wouldn’t be polite to let the girl wander on her own, Ed, Al and Beregond decided to go with her.

“Winry,” Beregond asked as they all still walked. “What is an automail made of?”

Winry looked away from one of the shop windows and blinked at his direction, mildly surprised at the question. “Well, it depends,” she answered after some thought. “The best ones are made from steel. On the other hand they’re very impractical on the northern parts of Amestris due to the harsh weather conditions; so the automail has to be made up of other kind of alloys. Why do you ask?”

Beregond placed his hands in his pockets. “I was just thinking of something,” he answered truthfully. “Back in Middle-earth we used mithril for our armour, but I haven’t seen anyone use it here.”

“Mithril?” Winry echoed. “I haven’t heard of that kind of metal before. What’s it like?”

“It’s hard to describe it, actually,” Beregond said, frowning a bit as he tried to find the correct words. “It’s quite shiny like silver, if not shinier. It’s very light too, but harder than steel or diamond.”

The girl tapped her chin with a finger as she contemplated matters carefully. “You know, this is quite interesting. I wish you had some with you so I could have a closer look.”

“My armour is partly made of mithril. I can transmute some out of it the next time we get back to East City.”

“Great!” Winry said, smiling.

“Wait,” Ed said at that moment, looking at Beregond. “Didn’t you say that you gave your armour to that professor?”

Beregond shrugged. “Technically, it’s still mine. And besides, I want to meet the professor so I can tell him about my encounter with the Ishbalans.”

Ed nodded his understanding and the four continued on with their sightseeing. Suddenly, Al pointed straight ahead where a large group of people was gathered.

“What do you think is going on?” he asked wonderingly.

“One way to find out, I guess,” Ed said, already heading at that direction.

“I thought we agreed we would have to look around the shops,” Winry said, dismayed.

“It will only take a couple of minutes,” Edward retorted, slightly rolling his eyes.

And so, all four of the companions approached the circle of people. As they drew closer, they could clearly hear a loud voice urging everyone from the circle to participate in what turned out to be an arm-wrestling contest.

“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Try to beat the champion and win the grand prize!” the man was saying. “Isn’t there anyone who wants to try his luck against the champ’s automail?”

The champion, who was quite huge, flexed both his automail arms with a huge grin on his bearded face.

“Don’t be shy, ladies and gentlemen! Show to the rest of the world what your automail is worth by becoming the talk of Rush Valley!”

“Let me try!” a man shouted and stepped forward. “My automail is brand new; I can’t possibly lose!”

The two men sat down on the table for the match and the referee gave the go. Five seconds later, the champion had taken down his opponent’s arm, smashing it into the table. The sound of the wood breaking was deafening, to say the least.

“Sorry, mate! Better luck next time!” the referee said.

As dozens of automail technicians rushed immediately to offer their services at “once in a lifetime ridiculously low prices”, the Elric Brothers, Winry and Beregond remained where they stood.

Beregond crossed his arms, a very condemning look on his face when he saw another automail wielder rushing to try his own strength against the champion.

“That man promises glory,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes locked on the referee. “But where’s the glory when the fight is done in the name of profit?”

“What do you mean?” Winry asked. She had overheard the Gondorian and she was clearly puzzled by such harsh words. “It’s just a game.”

“It’s a game…” Ed started - only to be rudely interrupted by the sound of the new table breaking in two. The champion had won again.

“… as long as it’s played fairly.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You mean they’re cheating?”

“Yeah,” Al affirmed in a whisper. “They’re using alchemy.”

“Hey, you!” the referee said at that moment, pointing in the four companions’ direction. “You, with the automail body!”

If Al were able to, he would have blinked his surprise. “Me?” he asked, pointing at himself.

“Of course you!” the referee said. “You look pretty strong. How about you give it a try?”

The suit of armour immediately shook his head. “I’ll pass.”

“Aw, pity,” the referee said. “It would have been a good fight.” His eyes drifted and caught sight of Ed. “How about…?” However, his voice trailed off and he laughed as though he had just realised something very funny. “No, I couldn’t possibly ask this shrimp to take on the champ!”

If looks could kill, the reckless fool would have been dead on the spot. Winry and Beregond exchanged a worried glance, whereas Al got ready to grab at Ed in case his brother decided to become violent.

After all, though Ed had mustered the courage to finally admit that he wasn’t exactly tall just a few days ago, it certainly didn’t mean he had to be called a shrimp to his face.

Ed stepped forward, his teeth gnashing, and sat down in front of the third table that had been placed for the new match.

“Whoa! Got to admit it, you’re a feisty shrimp!” the referee said, still laughing.

“Edward! You’d better not lose!” Winry called warningly.

Ed didn’t answer, hardly acknowledging anyone. He just leaned forward, glaring at the champion, and placed his automail arm on the table. The champion chuckled in a mocking tone and followed Edward’s example.

Alphonse and Beregond were the only ones who noticed why Ed leaned forward. Beregond let out a weary sigh and discreetly reached for the inside of his overcoat.

“Beregond, maybe it won’t come to that,” Al whispered close to him, understanding what was on the man’s mind.

“Better safe than sorry,” the Gondorian replied.

“All right!” the referee shouted, cutting Beregond and Alphonse off their conversation. “Ready… Steady… GO!”

The fight was over the moment the word escaped from the referee’s lips. In the blink of an eye, Ed had slammed the champion’s automail arm on the table, breaking it in the process. The crowd could only just stare at that kind of impossibility with wide eyes like saucers and mouths open.

Except for Winry, that is. She just looked at Al with a grim look and asked: “He used alchemy, didn’t he?”

Al nodded.

“I see…”

Something in that tone made Beregond turn to face her with concern. Her head was now bowed, her fringe hiding her eyes from the rest of the world. “Winry?”

“Well, that ought to put them in place,” Ed declared, coming up to them with a bag jingling with money and looking quite pleased with himself. “Al, make sure that the people who played get their money back, will you?”

“Yeah… Okay, Brother,” the suit of armour answered and took the bag.

“Ed…” Winry said, still not looking up.

Edward blinked. “Yeah?”

His answer came in the form of the wrench, hitting him square on the head.

“YOU’RE AN IDIOT!” the girl shouted at the top of her lungs. At the next moment, she had turned on her heels and hurried away.

“Winry, wait!” Beregond cried, but it was too late.

“Brother!” Al exclaimed, horrified at the sight of Edward on the ground with a huge lump on his head. “What happened?” he asked Beregond, trying to understand.

The Gondorian didn’t answer. He only shook his head, saddened.

---

Havoc cleared his throat and loosened the collar of his official military shirt just enough that he could breath more easily.

He didn’t feel better. The atmosphere in Gracia’s house was simply too suffocating because of the heaviness of mourning that filled the air.

Sighing, he checked at his surroundings again. There was too much black surrounding him; nevertheless, he still tried to find one particular person amid the crowd that had arrived to pay their condolences to the grief-stricken widow.

He didn’t search for long. He caught sight of her tall, lithe form at the other side of the room. Her daughter was beside her, her eyes slightly widened in an attempt to comprehend what was happening, but her innocence preventing her.

Havoc watched Sarah lean close to Alice and whisper something that could only be translated as: “Stay with Elysia and keep her company.” After all, that was precisely what the girl did after she nodded at her mother’s quiet suggestion.

“Gracia?” Havoc’s ears could easily pick up that single word that flowed out of Sarah’s lips when she saw Hughes’ wife.

“Yes?” Gracia asked, turning at her direction.

“You should eat something,” Sarah said. “You didn’t have anything all morning.”

“I don’t feel like eating anything,” Gracia said.

“I understand. But you need to eat,” Sarah insisted gently.

Gracia sighed. “Then a toast will be fine. Just ask around if anybody else wants anything.”

“Of course,” the black-haired woman said and headed for the kitchen.

It was only then that Havoc decided to approach. Nodding and saluting his way through familiar and unfamiliar people alike, he entered the kitchen also. She didn’t seem to notice him as she prepared the toast for Gracia. However, when he slipped his fingers through her hair to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, she didn’t act surprised at all. She merely turned to face him, a small, sweet smile tugging on her lips.

“How are you?” he asked, rubbing the base of her neck delicately.

“I’m all right,” she replied, leaning just slightly to the touch. However, her smile soon faded. “I wish I could say the same for Gracia.”

Havoc nodded his understanding. “What news so far?” he asked in a whisper; he didn’t want to risk being listened in on.

“Nothing for the time being,” she whispered back, obviously understanding that Havoc was talking about Hughes’ condition. “I phoned to the library today. I’ve already asked for a few days off so that I can stay here with Gracia.” She turned to Havoc’s direction. “What will you do?”

He removed his hand from her neck, a pang of guilt piercing his heart. “As of tomorrow, I’ll be officially taking up my duties again by the Colonel’s side. And… there’s something else.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow and regarded Havoc curiously – and with a touch of apprehension. Havoc bit his lower lip and whole-heartedly wished that he could take back his last words, but he was aware that it was too late now. He had to go through this. He cast a glance behind him to make sure that no one was in hearing range and then grasped one of Sarah’s hands with one of his own.

“I meant what I said… I don’t want to lose you.” His soft tone barely hid the strength with which he spoke. “And the game we’re about to play is dangerous.”

“Jean, I thought we agreed on this…”

“Let me finish,” Havoc said, his grasp tightening just slightly in a signal to hear him out. “If the Colonel’s hidden agenda is found out, we, as his subordinates, will be taken down too – as well as anybody else that has been related to us. Even…” He didn’t continue; his resolution was failing him fast and all he could do in the end was bow his head in regret.

“You don’t want the enemy to know we’re connected,” Sarah said. She was frowning now, contemplating matters. “Stands to reason, I suppose. They might also try to use that connection for their own ends.”

“I’m sorry.” Havoc lifted his gaze almost shyly.

However, she laughed quietly.

“For what? We’re still together, aren’t we?”

Havoc finally smiled for the first time during their conversation. “Yeah… Yeah, we are.” And with that murmur, he sealed their agreement with a tender kiss on her forehead.

---

Riza looked outside the door to make sure that there was no one walking and then returned her gaze to her superior. Roy had opened all the drawers on Maes’s desk and was now looking at all the contents carefully.

“Any luck, Sir?” she asked.

“No.” Roy closed the drawers again in slight dismay. “Whatever it was Maes found out, he made sure that it stayed hidden from other prying eyes.”

“You could ask help from his secretary. She must know which files Brigadier General Hughes was working on last,” Riza said, mentioning Hughes by the rank he acquired after dying in the line of duty.

It was ironic, considering the man wasn’t dead.

Roy shook his head. “I would ask the girl directly if the investigation concerning the circumstances of Maes’s ‘death’ wasn’t officially put to a halt. The enemy will expect anyone to approach her and start asking her questions in order to discover who’s working against them.”

“Nevertheless, we might need her help.”

“I know. But I don’t want to put her into any danger if I can help it.”

Just then, Roy and Riza heard the sound of footsteps approaching the office in which they were. They tensed, waiting to see who would walk through that door, all sorts of reasonable excuses to justify their presence in the deceased man’s office crossing their minds.

It turned out that there was no need for such an alarm. It was just a young girl with brown hair and glasses who stepped inside, and she was slightly taken aback at seeing the two soldiers.

Scieszka, Roy thought at once, recognising her.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should go…” She was about to turn on her heel and leave, when she froze midway. She locked her gaze on Roy, her eyes widening slightly. “You must be Colonel Roy Mustang.”

Roy and Riza exchanged a brief glance before the man faced Scieszka again. “I see my reputation precedes me,” he said. “And who are you, Miss?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I’m Scieszka,” the girl answered. “I used to work for Lieu… Brigadier General Hughes.”

“I see,” Roy answered. “And why are you here now?”

Scieszka flinched at Roy’s tone, but she composed herself pretty quickly. “I heard about his death.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And… I’ve also heard that there won’t be any further investigation about his death.”

“You’ve heard correct.”

The girl’s hands clenched into fists and her eyes welled up momentarily with tears. “But, Sir… it doesn’t make any sense,” she said; her voice was now quivering. “He was a kind, considerate man. Why would anyone want to kill him? Isn’t it the duty of the military to find out?”

“Ms Scieszka,” Roy answered, crossing his arms. “It is also the duty of the military to obey orders. If it’s been decided that that investigation has reached its end, then it has reached its end. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“But… the Brigadier General said about your friendship…”

“Friendships do not matter. I’m first and foremost a soldier in the service of the State.”

That, apparently, was all that Scieszka could handle. Trying her best to control her sobs and yet failing miserably, she bowed low. “Excuse me!” she all but cried and instantly hurried out of the room without looking back.

Roy could only sigh as he watched the girl leave. Nevertheless, he didn’t regret his harsh words. If she believed that Roy was Führer’s obedient dog he wouldn’t be suspected for what would happen next.

As for who would approach Scieszka to get the information he wanted – he already had someone in mind.

Speaking of which…

“By the way, Hawkeye… Did you make the proper contacts?”

Riza nodded. “Everything will be ready and sent in three days.”

At that, Roy allowed himself to smile inwardly. “Good.”

So far, everything was going according to plan.

---

It had been several hours since Winry had stormed away, angry at Ed. The sun was swiftly descending to end its journey, showering the town in rich colours of red and gold, yet none of the three companions noticed. In fact, they had all grown awfully quiet, as though afraid that something bad was going to happen if they addressed the other.

In a way, they were. Al and Beregond didn’t want to address Ed, because he would snap at them the moment they’d say: “You’d better go apologise.” On the other hand, Ed didn’t want to address them and rant to his heart’s content, because he knew that the first thing the two of them were going to say was: “You’d better go apologise.”

In the end, it was Beregond who broke the silence. “It’s… getting late.”

Ed and Al looked at him briefly, a bit surprised. “Yeah…” Ed said, though he wasn’t really certain what the Gondorian was trying to say.

Beregond looked at the sun as it finally plunged behind the mountains. “It’s going to be night soon.”

Now Ed raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“And… it’s winter,” Al added, catching on.

Ed regarded Al suspiciously. “So?”

“Winter nights are very cold,” Beregond noted.

“People stay indoors at winter nights,” Al said.

“And then they’re warm and cosy.”

“I bet Winry is warm and cosy right now.”

Beregond hummed his affirmative. “She might even be less angry.”

Ed rolled his eyes and raised a hand in defeat. “Fine, you both made your point. I’m going to talk to her.”

“Good,” Beregond said at once.

“Good luck, Brother,” Al chimed.

Ed didn’t bother with a reply this time. He just grumbled something which remotely resembled “Yeah, sure” and walked at the direction of the hotel.

Gladdened at such success, Beregond winked at Al. That earned him a chuckle and a thumbs-up from the suit of armour, and then they both started walking towards the hotel as well. However, neither of them was in a hurry, because they wanted to give Ed and Winry all the time they needed in order to make up. So, they walked and chatted without much care in the world, swapping stories from their days they had to train under their instructors’ supervision.

“So you had to survive for a month on that island?” Beregond asked.

“Yes,” Al said, nodding in emphasis. “You know, there were times that I thought Brother and I would have died there and that would upset Aunt Pinako and Winry. But I have to admit that we learned a lot.”

Beregond couldn’t help but smile. He was about to say something about his own mentor, when he suddenly noticed that they were passing by a small shop with all kinds of automail utensils. His eyes scrutinised at the items in thought and then he turned to Al.

It seemed that the same thought had crossed Al’s mind too. Winry hadn’t managed to get something from Rush Valley because of the arm-wrestling incident and it would have been a pity if she left the town empty-handed.

“Look,” Al said, pointing at a screwdriver. “I think she would have liked to buy it. She used to have one just like it, but she broke it two years ago.”

“Really?” Beregond asked, a bit surprised that Al would be able to recall something like that.

“Yeah. It was her favourite one, too.”

Beregond looked at the suit of armour from the corner of his eye, then at the screwdriver. Making up his mind, he reached for the inside pocket of his overcoat.

“Alphonse… Here.” He got out some money and handed them to Al.

The flickers of eyes grew larger, a sign that Al was now gaping in surprise. “No, that’s okay – really!” he stammered. He attempted to return the money to Beregond, but the latter wouldn’t have it.

“You want her to be happy, don’t you?” Beregond said with a broad smile. “So go on. I’m sure she will like it.”

“But it’s your money!”

“You offered your money when I needed it. Shouldn’t I do the same?” the Gondorian reasoned. “Now come on, just take it.”

Al’s body posture screamed indecision at that moment. In the end though, he seemed to relent because he clenched his fist around the money. “Thank you. I’ll return it, I promise,” he said, bowing low.

“Don’t worry about it,” Beregond said. “Go inside.”

Al regarded the man curiously. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No,” Beregond answered with a shake of his head. “I don’t know anything about those things. Besides, I have to go get us some food. We didn’t have anything since this morning.”

“Okay. Will we meet at the hotel then?” Al asked.

“Of course,” Beregond said. He patted the iron shoulder. “Till then!”

“Right!” And with that, Al walked cheerily inside. Beregond watched the suit of armour enter, a smile still on his lips, until he decided it was high time to find a market and get the groceries they needed.

He had just turned a couple of corners and walked down an alley when two very familiar figures stepped in front of him. The Gondorian eyed closely both the automail champ, who was now sporting a new automail arm to match his left one, and his companion.

“Can I help you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He pretended not to notice their angry faces.

“Sure you can!” the referee said. “Your buddy beat us out of all that money!”

“Yes, I know,” Beregond answered with a shrug. “He’s good like that.” He had started walking once more, but the two men stepped into his path again.

“Cut that out! I know he cheated!” the smaller man said.

Beregond cast a warning glare at their direction. “It takes one to know one, I suppose,” he answered slowly and patiently before continuing on.

Or, at least, he tried to continue on. The two men blocked his path a third time.

“This is getting tiresome,” Beregond said with a huff.

“Damn straight! So hand over the dough.”

“I don’t have it,” the Gondorian answered simply.

“Really?”

At that moment, the automail champion clenched his mechanical arms in a threatening manner.

“Then we’ll take yours!”

This turned out to be the worst thing that the referee could have said. In the blink of an eye, Beregond had grabbed his sword from underneath his overcoat and used it to cut the champion’s both arms in two.

“You were saying?” he asked, placing himself in a defensive position.

The two men didn’t answer though. They were too busy running away from Beregond as fast as their feet would carry them.

“Nothing all that important from the looks of it,” Beregond noted to himself. He latched his sword back under his overcoat and headed for the market.

---

“Thank you, sir! Goodbye!” Al said cheerily and closed the door of the shop behind him. He looked at the small wrapped box and, smiling mentally, tucked it safely inside his armour. He couldn’t believe his good luck. That screwdriver was actually the last available in the shop and there wouldn’t be any more for at least a week. He was glad that Beregond had talked him into buying it, because now he knew Winry would definitely be happy.

However, Al’s good mood instantly vanished into thin air, because it was then that he caught sight of a large man, who was holding a photograph and showing it to a group of people – obviously asking for information.

A very familiar man, to be exact. And if he was here, then that meant…

Oh no…

Making sure that the man wouldn’t see him, Al instantly ran to the hotel.

TBC…

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